


Grey Day

by jaradel



Series: Check Please Tumblr Ficlets [5]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Boys In Love, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Jack's overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 01:19:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7412845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaradel/pseuds/jaradel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack isn't the only one who has grey days, days when the whole world presses in on him. But dealing with your own anxiety, and helping a loved one deal with theirs, are two very different things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey Day

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to [Ngozi](http://ngoziu.tumblr.com/), creator of [Check, Please!](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr May 5, 2016.
> 
> Many thanks to [tiptoe39](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39), [annundriel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel), [marswithghosts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cautionzombies), and [pawspaintsnthings](http://pawspaintsnthings.tumblr.com) for their support. <3

Jack comes home from morning practice to find Bitty on the sofa, staring into the middle distance. There are no baked goods cooling in the kitchen. No laptop open with Bitty’s latest video recording, ready to edit. Bitty isn’t even dressed; he’s still in the same t-shirt and briefs he slept in last night. He’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, his phone tossed carelessly on the coffee table, his expression… lost. Empty.

Jack knows that look. He knows the feeling that goes with that look, because it’s how Jack felt for the better part of five years after his overdose. Seeing that look on Bitty - his sunshine, usually full of ebullience and energy - gives him a sick swooping feeling in his gut. Nothing good can come of that look.

Jack drops his gear in the foyer, something for which Bitty usually scolds him, and sits on the sofa. He doesn’t sit too close, or try to hug him; Jack knows that he has to give Bitty time to register his presence, and then to consent to physical contact. The thing about anxiety is that it can leave you craving affection even when you shy away from someone touching you. It’s a delicate balance.

“Bitty.”

Jack starts simply, announcing his presence. He doesn’t ask if Bitty’s alright - he can see that he’s not. He doesn’t ask Bitty to talk to him, because even that kind of a request can feel like pressure to someone who’s feeling overwhelmed already. He waits for Bitty to respond, even though every second that ticks by in their unnaturally quiet apartment feels like hours.

Bitty slowly turns his head. He’s not been crying, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hurting like hell inside. That lost, blank expression cuts at Jack like a knife, serrated and dulled, tearing at him painfully. What did he miss? What cues did he overlook between last night and today? Why does it feel like Bitty is looking right through him?

Jack knows that there doesn’t have to be an outside stressor to cause this. It would be so much easier if there were, because then you could at least point to the thing and say, “That thing made me upset”. But anxiety and depression - and they tend to go hand in hand - doesn’t work like that. Sometimes there is a thing, sure, but that thing may be relatively small in comparison to the pain it makes you feel. A missed shot in practice used to send Jack into a downward spiral that would last for days. So even though Jack knows that there doesn’t need to be an outside stressor, he racks his brain trying to remember if something happened that could have caused this.

“Hi, honey.” Bitty’s voice is rough from disuse, the words flat.

Jack’s heart constricts, and a lump forms in his throat. There are things that he forces himself not to think about, for his own health and well-being - things like, what if Bitty decides one day that he’s done with Jack and his moods, or that he’s done with being the partner of a famous hockey player. He knows, objectively, that he and Bitty are very happy together; it is because of Jack’s own history of anxiety that they have an agreement to say how they’re feeling, even if it’s painful. Everything is out on the table, at all times. That level of openness was established early on, with their first Skype chats after Jack’s graduation. So he knows that Bitty will tell him how he’s feeling, but it doesn’t stop his own anxiety from starting that familiar cold trickle down his spine.

“What do you need?” Jack ventures. He needs Bitty to guide him here; he’s not used to being on this side, and while he knows what works for him in these situations, those same approaches may not work for Bitty.

Bitty lets out a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Can I hold you?”

Bitty nods, looking down. Jack scoots closer and opens his arms, and is surprised (and relieved) when Bitty crawls into Jack’s lap and burrows his face in Jack’s chest. Jack wraps his arms around Bitty, stroking his back softly, slowly, a comforting rhythm to soothe him. Bitty is curled up into a ball, his arms folded between his chest and Jack’s, and Jack’s heart breaks to see and feel Bitty so very small in his arms. He drops gentle kisses in Bitty’s blond hair. They sit that way for a long time, before Bitty speaks again.

“I don’t know what happened. I woke up and you were gone, which is normal on practice days, and I got up, and I went to the kitchen, and I looked around, and I - I just didn’t want to do anything. I thought about putting some music on, but I didn’t want to listen to anything. I picked up my phone and sat down on the sofa, and started scrolling through my Twitter feed, and just - everything I saw was making me upset, but I didn’t know why. Just - everything was getting to me. No one said anything mean, no one said anything to me. I don’t know how to explain it. I just felt… cold.”

Jack tightens his arms around Bitty. He knows, painfully well, what Bitty means. It’s not something you can really put into words; the closest thing Jack can think of to describe it is that the whole world grates on you, like you’re hypersensitive to everything and you just want to be left alone. You don’t want to see anything, or read anything, or do anything, or talk to anyone. Bitty sighs, a warm gust of air on Jack’s chest, through his t-shirt.

“Is that how you feel sometimes? Is that what it’s like?” Bitty’s voice is small, tentative. They don’t talk about Jack’s anxiety in this context very often, and thankfully, he doesn’t get attacks as frequently as he did during his first year in Providence. Jack knows that one of the reasons he’s been doing so well these past few years is that Bitty is with him, and while he doesn’t want to put the responsibility of managing his anxiety on Bitty’s shoulders, Bitty’s presence in his life, in his heart, has had a grounding, centering effect.

“Yes,” Jack says softly. “That’s what it feels like sometimes. It’s not always panic. Sometimes it’s just… emptiness.”

“Yeah. That’s what I felt. Empty. Like there was nothing inside. Nothing worth anything, anyway.”

Jack’s heart breaks to hear those words - _his words_ , the words he’s heard in his own head so many times - coming out of Bitty’s mouth. He drops more kisses into Bitty’s hair, still stroking his back even though his arm is starting to ache a bit.

“You’re everything to me, you know that, right?” Jack murmurs.

Bitty nods against Jack’s chest. “I know, honey. And you to me. I’m sorry, I-”

Jack closes his eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all. I’ve put so much on you over the years, and God knows how you deal with it all, because I’m not an easy person to be around, let alone live with. I want to be here for you. Please, let me be here for you.”

Bitty lets out a half-chuckle, half-sob into Jack’s chest, and looks up. Jack opens his eyes, gazing at Bitty, hoping that all of the love and affection he feels for this perfect man shows on his face.

“But I’m supposed to take care of you,” Bitty says, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“We’re supposed to take care of each other, Bits. And right now, I’m taking care of you.”

More tears run down Bitty’s cheeks, but he’s smiling at least, and Jack will take that small victory. “Lord, I’m a mess,” he says, and Jack can’t help but grin as Bitty’s accent gets just a little thicker. “Why do you even put up with me?”

“Must be the pies,” Jack deadpans.

Bitty laughs. It’s a watery chuckle, but to Jack it’s heavenly music. He kisses Bitty softly, just a simple press of lips. Bitty slides his arms around Jack, returning the kiss, and then tucks his head under Jack’s chin.

“I do make some damn fine pies.”


End file.
